The message from Jordan arrived while Elena was standing in the kitchen with a glass of water she had forgotten to drink.

I’ve been thinking about everything you said. It doesn’t add up. I’m not dropping this.

Elena set the phone face-down on the counter. The glass remained untouched. Under her soft long-sleeved shirt the map of bruises felt suddenly louder, as if Jordan’s words had reached through the fabric and pressed on each one. The newest mark on her inner thigh—carefully placed where only Marcus would see it—ached when she shifted her weight. Between her legs she could still feel the slow, warm evidence of the load he had...